


Somebody Loves You

by tempe_harding



Category: Hockey RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, Getting Together, Hockey, Kidfic, M/M, POV Outsider, The Cup gets its own tag because of reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempe_harding/pseuds/tempe_harding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1, Prompt 1- Soulmate AU (with bonus hockey): Ask any hockey player and they’ll tell you the same thing: you gotta have chemistry with your linemates.</p><p>Peter Chiarelli, eat your heart out.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 2, Prompt 3- Reconciliation: How is it possible that while Lucy sometimes went to bed shivery and hungry, her uncle owned his very own football club?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Full_Moon_Lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Full_Moon_Lover/gifts).



Louis gets traded February 10th 2014.

 

He finds out when his phone starts blowing up while he’s making breakfast/elevensies—it being an off day with no practices or games, he had slept in quite a bit.

 

 _‘Sux dude,’_ is the main theme of the first flurry of texts, mostly from his drinking buddies and a couple of guys from juniors.

 

Niall texts him seven or eight exclamation points all in a row.

 

Then it’s _‘call me, boobear,’_ from his mom, and that’s when it starts to sink in.

 

Peter Chiarelli calls a few minutes later.

 

They exchange pleasantries, and then fall silent.  Louis isn’t sure why.  There’s only one reason the General Manager of the Boston Bruins would be calling him right now, and it’s not to ask how his slapshot is coming along.

 

“Where am I going?” Louis asks.

 

There’s a pause, and then, “Columbus.”  Chiarelli keeps talking, meaningless jabber about how Louis’ been a valuable member of the Bruins and that they are very sorry to see him go, but the salary cap, see, it’s just business, and—Louis stops listening, Chiarelli’s voice an annoying humming in his ear.  After a few moments the buzzing stops, Louis takes the opportunity to croak out a “thank you for telling me personally,” and then he hangs up.

 

\--

 

Columbus’ GM calls him that afternoon, full of optimism and grand plans.  The Blue Jackets’ front office has arranged for his plane tickets—for tomorrow—and a hotel room.  Just temporary, Kekalainen assures him.  A couple of the Blue Jacket players live in one apartment complex in downtown Columbus (is there even such a thing?) and the front office is looking into getting him a place there.

 

They end the conversation with a plan, but Louis feels no calmer or happier.  Columbus, Ohio?  Fuck.  He was supposed to bleed black and gold until he’s old—a Boston Bruin, forever.  That was the plan.  They drafted him, picked him, wanted him, and now what, they’re willing to give him up for a fourth liner and a couple of draft picks?  For cap space?

 

The best day of his life, he hoisted 35 pounds of silver in an arena doused in gold.  Patrice Bergeron handed him the Cup and 17,000 people watched as he took his victory lap.  They fought, and battled, and played their hearts out, and _they did it, they won_ , and now what?

 

The Columbus Blue Jackets have, in their fourteen year history, made it to the playoffs once.  And they got swept by the Detroit Red Wings in four games in the first round.  They consistently rank at or near the bottom of the divisional rankings.

 

To go from an Original Six team, one that has a good chance of winning the Stanley Cup every year to the real chance of never winning…  It’s heartbreaking.

 

(Louis is never saying anything bad to Jeff Carter ever again [at least to his face] [that guy is a smug, blond, asshole].)

 

He knows, logically, that trades come with being a professional athlete.  He just, naively, never thought it would happen to him.  He was with Boston for four seasons, from the start of the 2008-2009 season.  He was drafted in 2005 alongside the likes of Sidney Crosby, Anze Kopitar, and TJ Oshie.  Louis spent the year after the draft with the Quebec Remparts, in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, before working his way up to the Bruins’ farm team in Providence, Rhode Island, and finally Boston itself.  He fought his way to the Big Show, to _make it,_ and now he’s basically back at square one.

 

And oh, the articles on the likes of Deadspin tomorrow will be wonderful.  Just last week he had been complaining to Dougie that the media had been portraying him as some loose-cannon asshole, partying and not taking anything seriously, even though he’s twenty-seven years old, and how did he not see this sooner?  He can see the headlines now:  “Tommo Traded! Boston Bruins finally had enough with uncoachable, party-boy D Louis Tomlinson.”  They did the same thing six months ago, when Segs was traded.  Fucking bullshit.

 

It’s enough to make him want to take to Twitter, but no.  Twitter’s gotten him into trouble before, and he vividly remembers the aftermath of Segs’ trade and the Twitter fallout.  He’d like to keep his account, thanks.

 

Louis settles for curling up in bed with a bottle of vodka.

 

\--

 

The first day in Columbus, he doesn’t even get to skate.  It’s all shaking hands, taking photos, signing contracts, and press conferences.  The PR lady hands him a new jersey to wear to the presser, blue and red, Tomlinson 28 on the back.  No more black and gold.  He’s a Blue Jacket now.  He pulls the jersey on over his head and follows her out to the waiting vultures.

 

He’s exhausted, after, worn out and wrung dry from keeping his smile bright and answering questions about his partying ways, commitment, and overall skill as a hockey player.

 

Louis’s talking with one of the trainers about his workout regime when he hears that fucking cackle and has to brace for impact.

 

Sure enough, Niall crashes into him, taking them both to the floor.  “Tommo!  You fucker, how are you?  You’re here!”

 

Louis laughs, trying to squirm his way out of Niall’s chokehold.  Niall’s hair is wet, obviously from a post-practice shower, but he still smells a little ripe.  “Yep.  I’m a Blue Jacket.”

 

“It’s good to see you, dude,” Niall says.  Louis can hear the smile in his voice. 

 

“Hey, Horny!  Who’s this?”

 

Louis looks up to see two guys walking towards them, each wearing Blue Jackets swag.

 

Niall jumps up, ever the nimble goalie.  “Dudes!  This is Louis Tomlinson, the new guy.  We played together on the Remparts back in juniors.  Louis, these are my roommates, Liam Payne and Zayn Malik.  Don’t listen to anything they say, it’s all lies.”

 

Zayn rolls his eyes while Liam gives Niall a shove into the wall, and they both shake Louis’s hand.  “Is his Québécois still atrocious?” Louis asks, smirking.

 

“Oi!”

 

Liam breaks up their scuffle, and then Zayn explains, “Harry, you know, Harry Styles, usually carpools with us, but he’s staying late to get a massage.  Do you wanna grab dinner?”

 

Louis shrugs.  He has dinner with Niall, Liam, and Zayn.  It’s actually pretty nice.  The food at the restaurant is good, and when they drop him off at his hotel, he doesn’t feel quite as depressed about Columbus in general.  He still goes to bed nervous, though.

 

The next day, Valentine’s Day, he has his first practice as a Blue Jacket.  And, dependent on the outcome of practice, his first game.

 

\--

 

The next morning Louis attends morning skate.

 

They pair him up with a kid who goes by Hammer, and it’s not instant magic—cross ice saucer passes, the kid always knowing where Louis is going to be—but it’s alright for a first time playing together.  It’s not like they’re the number one defensive pairing anyway.

 

The Columbus Blue Jackets play the Ottawa Senators that night.

 

Niall’s making a spectacle of himself in goal, flailing widely, doing cartwheel saves and flashing the glove, and Zayn and Liam are lighting it up on the first line.  They head into the third period down by one, the score 3-2.  Louis blokes a Erik Karlsson slapshot on the penalty kill—which fucking hurts—but then, thirty seconds later, back to even strength play, Hammer basically gives the puck away at the blue line and Bobby Ryan scores, 4-2.

 

When they skate back to the bench so the next line can come on, Coach Cowell’s head is about to explode.  “Hemmings!  Park it, you’re out.  Tomlinson, you’re with Styles.  Get back out there.”

 

Hammer collapses onto the bench, and his buddy Clifford pats him on the back.  Louis circles back to position.  He can see Styles out of the corner of his eye, mirroring him.  They ready for the faceoff.

 

Liam wins it, sends it back to Zayn, and they’re off, trying to get the puck out of their zone.  Louis follows. 

 

Then Zayn gets knocked into by Jared Cowen for an open-ice hit, and the puck is on Louis’ stick.

 

Louis carries the puck into the offensive zone, but he’s alone.  He’s about to make a run for the net—he’s a good skater, he can probably get around the two Wild D, but he is suddenly overcome with the urge to pass the puck.  He fights it for a moment—he has a shooting lane now, he should take a shot—but the urge becomes unbearable.  He flings the puck through the feet of the Wild defensemen to empty ice, and then Styles is there.  The puck hits dead center on the tape of his stick, and then Styles is tapping it in behind Bryzgalov, who was out of his net and square to Louis, who, under normal circumstances, would have shot.

 

4-3.

 

Styles careens into the boards for a celly, and Louis is the first of their teammates to reach him.  Louis slams into him, locking him into a hug.  “Nice pass!” Styles screams, knocking their helmets together.

 

Their eyes lock.

 

_green-green-nicepass-happy-happy-proud-confusion-what-HARRY—_

 

\--

 

Louis comes to on the floor of the locker room.  There’s a lot of yelling going on.  His head aches, almost a growing pain ache, like it’s too big for his skull.

 

“I can’t fucking believe this!  Oh my god!”

 

That’s when it all comes crashing back.  The game.  The goal.  Sty—Harry.  Shit.  Louis turns his head a bit to see Harry sprawled next to him, still unconscious.  Shit.  They soulbonded, right there on the ice, on national television, on _Hockey Night In Canada_.

 

Holy fuck.  Soulbonds are rare, okay?  He’s allowed to freak out.  Soon as Harry wakes up, he’ll have another person in his head.  Even now, he can feel this spot of warmth towards the back of his skull.  That’s probably… Harry.

 

“Can you imagine the shit that Chiarelli’s getting right now?”

 

Louis jerks, so caught up in his thoughts that the voice startles him.  He feels a flood of amusement, and knows even before he looks that Harry’s come to, and is looking at him fondly.  “What do you mean?”

 

Harry arches his back on the hard floor of the locker room, stretching. (Louis most certainly doesn’t watch.) (More amusement.)  “Well, once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.  He traded Kessel to Toronto, where Kessel soulbonded with Bozak.  He traded Seguin to Dallas, where Seguin soulbonded to Benn.  And now…” Harry leans his weight on one arm to gesture between them with the other.  “I’m just saying…”

 

Louis snorts out a laugh, and then it’s like he can’t stop.  He rolls back onto his back, a hysterical edge to his laughter, feeling that fucking amusement in the back of his head.

 

\--

 

It’s decided that Louis will move in with Harry.  He has the space, and he lives in the same building as Niall, Liam, and Zayn, where management was going to try to place Louis, anyway.

 

Physical closeness is key when nurturing a new soulbond, so they take a lot of pregame naps cuddled together on Harry’s big bed.  It’s nice.  Louis expected it to be awkward at first, but Harry just rolled onto his stomach and projected _i’m the little spoon_ , and that was that.

 

\--

 

They get closer, and closer, and it’s harder and harder to pull away from Harry.

 

\--

 

They do a video interview with ESPN, and when it airs Segs calls just to laugh at him.

 

\--

 

Then they make the playoffs.

 

They make the _playoffs_. 

 

Four rounds, best of seven.

 

And they get the Pittsburgh Penguins for round one.  Who boast one of the few other soulbonded pairs, the Two-Headed Monster, Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin.

 

They drop the first game.  It’s… it’s not good.

 

Game two.

 

They go down 3-1, and manage to crawl their way back up to a tie game.

 

Huge chances for both teams, Niall and Pittsburgh’s Marc Andre Fleury stand on their heads and make amazing saves.

 

Double overtime.

 

They’re scrambling around the net, and then the puck is on his stick, and then it’s in.  Louis can’t even take it in for a moment, too stunned to do anything but drift along the ice.  Fleury is smashing his blocker against the crossbar, and his head is exploding with _yesyesyesyesHOLYSHIT_ and that’s when it sinks in.

 

They’ve won.

 

His teammates swarm him, the bench emptying, all of the Jackets on the ice, celebrating their first ever Stanley Cup Playoff win. 

 

Louis meets Harry’s eyes across the pile of happy hockey players, hears his _you did it, lou_.

 

 _we did it_ , he answers back.  Harry’s smile widens impossibly, and Louis lets himself be carried away with the feeling.

 

They may not have won The Cup, not even close, but it’s a start.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy Austin has been at the group home for just over a week when Mrs. Havisham bellows up the stairs that she has a visitor.  The other girls give her sympathetic looks as she rushes out of the shared bedroom; here, visitors mean either case workers or potential foster parents, and neither of those is a good thing.

 

She follows Mrs. Havisham’s piercing, fake laugh to the sitting room, where she freezes just inside the doorway. Sitting on the drab couch is a man she’s never met, but knows well.  How could she not?  The faded poster of five smiling boys followed Lucy and her mom from shitty flat to shitty flat, through countless ex-boyfriends and several controlled substance addictions.  It was the first thing Mom would hang up whenever they moved someplace new.  It’s rolled up in the bottom of her duffle now.

 

The man stands upon her entrance, smoothing out any crinkles in his trousers.  He’s dressed down in slacks and a jumper, but it’s plainly obvious that his whole ensemble is worth more than the couch he was sitting on.  His face is kind, though, sharp features softened by his smile and the _blueblue_ of eyes that Lucy sees each morning when she looks in the mirror.  She knows exactly who he is, just not why he’s here.

 

“Lucy?  Hi, my name is Louis Tomlinson.  I’m your uncle.”

 

\--

 

Louis explains that he and Lucy’s mom are half-siblings.  He had met Georgia a grand total of two times, both over twenty years ago, before she had been born and during the height of One Direction’s fame (as a band).  They never kept in contact; in fact Louis had no idea Lucy even existed until a few days ago, when the courts sent his lawyer a letter saying that he was Lucy’s last relative viable for guardianship since her mom was in jail, her grandpa in a rest home, and her dad fucked off somewhere, definitely high and probably broke.

 

“I’ve spoken with my kids,” Louis says softly, “And if you want, we would love to take you in.  I know this is probably overwhelming, and we don’t know each other as family, but it really wouldn’t be any trouble.  Ou—My oldest, Jamie, just left for uni and we have an extra room…”

 

“Can I think about it?” Lucy asks.  Her head is spinning.

 

“Of course,” Louis says.  He gives her his phone number, shakes Mrs. Havisham’s hand, and leaves.  Lucy curls up into a ball on the couch, face tucked into her knees.  Mrs. Havisham pats her hair and leaves her to it.

 

\--

 

The thing is, the Doncaster Rovers are her childhood club.  Some of her favorite memories are of huddling on the sofa with her mom, watching the games on the telly.  When things got bad, and her mom would leave for stretches of time, Lucy would watch by herself, cheering enough for two.

 

It’s crazy to think that while Lucy sometimes went to bed shivery and hungry, her _uncle_ owned that very football club.

 

\--

 

She says yes, of course.

 

Two days later she calls Louis, and he arranges for a car to pick her up.  He would collect her himself, he says apologetically, but he’s stuck in meetings all day and it can’t be helped.  The driver takes her across town, to a gated community of large, sprawling homes.  There’s a contingent of children waiting outside when the car pulls up the drive.

 

“Hi!” the oldest one says, a girl about her age. “I’m Darcy.”  She steps forward to hug Lucy.  She’s beautiful, with curly dark hair and familiar blue eyes.  “That’s Luke, and that’s Charlie,” Darcy continues, pointing to the two towheaded twin boys, “And this is Gail and Penny.”  The second pair of twins, a pair of little girls no older than six, rush forward to hug Lucy around her knees.

 

“We’re super excited that you’re coming to live with us!” Luke-or-Charlie says.

 

“Yeah, we love cousins!” the other one continues.  “We have loads.”

 

They start to list off their multitude of cousins, as Darcy pries Gail and Penny off of Lucy, handing the girls off to their probable-nanny.  (It could be their mom, but Lucy vaguely recalls Louis Tomlinson being married to a man, and someone high profile too?)

 

The driver unloads her suitcase and backpack and, with a wave to Darcy, takes the car somewhere else.  The two boys have dashed off somewhere, so now it’s just Lucy and Darcy standing in the driveway.  “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room,” Darcy says, still smiling.  “Is this really all your stuff?”  She hoists Lucy’s suitcase.  At Lucy’s nod, Darcy’s brow wrinkles, but she still smiles and shows Lucy to a room that clearly used to belong to a boy, although a lot of the personal items have been removed.  “This was Jamie’s room,” Darcy says cheerily.  “He’s off at uni now.”  She chatters on, and on, but eventually takes a hint and leaves.

 

Lucy curls up in a little ball on the bed and tries not to think of her mum, and how she’s doing, and how nice this house is, nicer than anywhere she’s ever been, and how things just aren’t fair.

 

\--

 

Dinner is a raucous affair, kids laughing, telling stories, squabbling, eating.  Louis holds court over his children, making sure each one gets his attention.  It’s clear he adores them, and that they adore him.  Louis was the one to collect her from her room for dinner, full of apologies for missing her arrival.

 

Now, though, there’s something odd.  All of the kids are here, and Louis, but not another parent, Louis’ spouse or whoever.  There’s not even a chair.

 

“Where’s, uh… your husband?” Lucy asks.

 

“Daddy’s on tour!” little Gail pipes up, swirling her spoon around her mashed potatoes.  Charlie nods earnestly, and then both sets of twins are off, babbling about all the cool places their father has gone.

 

Lucy doesn’t miss Louis’s grimace into his glass of wine, or how Darcy’s eyes shift down and away.  Oh.  So they aren’t quite the happy family they appear to be.  Meanly, it makes Lucy feel a little better, a little more welcome.  The Tomlinsons aren’t perfect, and they can’t expect her to be perfect either.

 

Lucy takes a bite from her chicken and asks Luke-maybe-Charlie a question about America.

 

\--

 

Lucy doesn’t meet Harry until about a week into her stay with the Tomlinsons.  He’s on a break from his tour and he dashed home to see his kids, and Louis, obviously, although a blind person could probably see the tension between them.

 

Harry is everything she imagined a rock star to be.  But he’s also funny, in a dad kind of way, and nice, and he obviously loves his kids a whole lot.  So, that’s in his favor. 

 

Throughout the weekend that Harry stays, however, Lucy notices that Louis and Harry barely look at each other.  There’s obviously something going on there.  And from the look on Darcy’s face, she, as the oldest, probably knows what’s going on.  Lucy looks away.  This doesn’t really concern her.

 

\--

 

The night after Harry leaves to go back on tour, Lucy gets up to get a glass of water in the middle of the night and finds Louis in the kitchen, nursing a drink.  She gets her water, and sits across from him at the counter.

 

“You know, I asked my mum, once, why she and my dad broke up,” Lucy says.  “And, well, them being on drugs was a contributing factor, but you know what she told me?  She said they gave up.  They stopped trying to make it work.  They weren’t even fighting anymore, not really.  And then he just left.”  Louis is silent, staring into his drink.  “And after he was gone, yeah, I was devastated, but it was over.  The weird tension, the non-fights, the silences.  It was done.  They stopped lying to me about why things had changed, but they acted like nothing had.  They told me the truth.  And it was better than living in limbo.”

 

\--

 

The next night is a scheduled Skype night, and Louis surprises them all by joining in.  Lucy doesn’t think she’s imagining Harry’s smile is brighter than she’s ever seen it.

 

\--

 

Then comes the day that Lucy’s mum gets out of jail and rehab.  And Lucy has to decide what to do.  And she’s so fearful of disappointing her mum, of making her sad, and of being a burden to Louis and Harry and their family.  But she says, quietly, to her mum across the table in the coffee shop, “I want to stay with Louis.”

 

And Georgia smiles sadly and says, “That’s probably for the best.”  But they make plans to meet up every week, to talk, and it really feels like everything is going to be okay.

 

\--

 

“My tutor told me a story,” Darcy says quietly.  Lucy can barely make out her features, dark under the quilt as it is.  “One of his friends is an anthropologist who was studying HIV positive women in Kenya.  She lived in Kenya for over a year, in an apartment in Nairobi’s city center.  Her living conditions were a million times better than the women who she was studying.  Soon into her field work, one of the women she befriended asked her if the woman’s children could live with her, long-term.  The anthropologist, whose own children were grown and in college, of course said yes.  The boy and girl moved in with her.  Eventually, her field work came to an end, and she got ready to leave Kenya.  And then she was told that, in Kenya, when you take someone else’s kids into your home like that, it’s for forever.  And you know what she did?  She adopted them and took them back to the States with her.  And she loves them like her own children.”  Darcy reaches out and takes Lucy’s hand.  “This isn’t temporary, Lucy.  This is forever.  We love you.”

 

That’s what does it.  Lucy bursts out crying, great heaving sobs that leave her breathless.  Darcy is there immediately, holding her.  Like a sister.  Like family.

 

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a real true story, taken from what happened to one of my prof's colleagues. I'm sorry this isn't the greatest, but I hope you liked it at least a little!


End file.
